


Hollywood Infected Your Brain

by StilesBastille24



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy lurks around every corner, Heather has heart eyes for Robin, M/M, Post-Season 2, Return of the Living Dead is the best movie, Steve and Robin would always be friends - fight me, Steve cat sits for the Hendersons, Steve just wants one thing to go right, during the winter that never was, the cat is an analogy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29177106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StilesBastille24/pseuds/StilesBastille24
Summary: “I had a cat in California,” Billy says, apropos of nothing.Suddenly, Steve forgets all about the towel he was looking for. “Really?”“Yeah, Russian Blue.”“That’s awesome,” Steve enthuses, not having the slightest idea what a Russian Blue is. Knowing Billy, it’s probably like the name of some shit band he likes that he decided to name his poor cat after.Billy narrows his eyes at him. “How do you not know how to take care of a cat, Harrington? They’re like the easiest animals on earth.”“What? No, that’s so untrue! Mr. Kitty has been staring death rays at me and today he - ““Mr. Kitty?” Billy bursts out laughing.Steve briefly considers drowning himself in the sink. “Screw you, man. Mrs. Henderson named the cat, not me.”
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 9
Kudos: 131





	Hollywood Infected Your Brain

**Author's Note:**

> Title from MARINA's song Hollywood. 
> 
> I don't know where this came from. But here it is, nonetheless. At least 50% written for when my bestie and I are old and in our rocking chairs with our cats. #bffs

Steve has never owned a pet. God forbid a single cat hair touch the cream white carpet of the Harrington home. But after seeing how distraught Mrs. Henderson is about the ‘missing’ Mews, Steve ‘lends’ Dustin the money to buy a new kitten for his mom. It’s two-hundred and fifty dollars well spent and that he knows he’s never getting back. Mrs. Henderson lights up when Dustin gives her the carrying case with the small black and white kitten inside. 

How this somehow develops into Steve house sitting Mr. Kitty for a week during winter break, Steve has no idea. Again, Steve has never owned a pet. Not even a goldfish or something else that barely counts as more than a plant. And as far as plants go, Steve’s never taken care of so much as a flower. So why anyone would trust him with a living, breathing, beloved animal is way beyond Steve. 

And yet, here he is, sitting on the Henderson’s couch, watching Mr. Kitty watch him from the other side of the couch. It’s super unnerving. Like, Mr. Kitty is straight up staring at him with his big green eyes, not even blinking. And, like, do cats even blink? Steve doesn’t know. He’ll have to ask Dustin when he calls tonight. 

“Okay, I’m going to watch TV now,” Steve tells Mr. Kitty before slowly reaching over and picking up the TV remote. He clicks on the television and switches to the sports channel. Mr. Kitty’s gaze never wavers from the side of Steve’s face. 

Steve tries to relax, tries to let himself get into the basketball game playing on FSN; tries and fails. Mr. Kitty is just still fucking watching him and it’s starting to freak Steve out. 

“Do you, like, need water or something?” he asks the cat, feeling like an idiot. 

Mr. Kitty continues to stare. 

Steve turns up the volume. 

Mr. Kitty growls, a low rumbling sound. 

Steve turns the volume down. 

Mr. Kitty flicks his tail. 

Steve regrets all of his life choices.

~*~*~*~

In the end, Steve can’t bring himself to ask Dustin if Mr. Kitty is a normal cat or a possessed cat. Either Dustin will laugh at him for being stupid or Dustin will say yes Mr. Kitty is possessed and then Steve will have to deal with that. So he goes with his next best option. He asks Robin.

“So, like, you like animals, right?” Steve asks. His head is hanging off Robin’s bed as he tosses one of her numerous Care Bears above him. He thinks this one is the Lucky Charms bear or something; it’s green with a shamrock on it. 

Most of the girls that Steve knew, and had been in the bedrooms of, had strict parents. Ones who demanded the door stay fully open, that no music be played (so they could casually eavesdrop on any possible ‘funny business’), and that Steve never set so much as a pinkie finger on their daughter’s bed. Robin’s mom, Molly, doesn’t care about any of that.

Molly calls Steve her foster-child. She pinches his cheeks and hugs him really tight. She always sends him home with cookies or brownies. She fusses over his shirts when they’re wrinkled and his jeans when the knees are worn out. 

Robin and her mom have a relationship Steve can’t even begin to imagine having with either one of his parents. They share each other’s secrets. They take care of each other. They love each other enough for nothing else to matter. Nothing else like living in a tiny house with only two bedrooms. Nothing else like Robin’s dad having passed away when she was two. Nothing else like Robin liking girls instead of boys. 

Robin’s mom is amazing the same way that Mrs. Henderson and Mrs. Byers are amazing. Steve kind of adores her. Especially when she makes him chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. He loves them, Robin despises them. 

Robin is lying next to him, reading a Wonder Woman comic. She looks down at him over the top of the comic. “Yes? Do you not like animals or something? Because honestly, that would be really weird of you and I’m not sure we could be friends anymore.”

Steve met Robin in study hall. She’d been pulling ugly faces at him for, like, two days straight when he finally couldn’t take it anymore. When he’d demanded to know what was wrong, she’d said she thought she might be allergic to his cologne and then proceed to sneeze directly in his face. 

Steve had traded out colognes and Robin had taken over helping him with his French homework to make up for the disgusting sneezing incident. She’d been his best friend the very next day when Steve got his first one hundred on his homework from Madame VanHoey. 

“What? No, I like animals,” Steve defends, curling up to sit correctly on the bed. “I mean, I’m watching Dustin’s mom’s cat, but, like, I don't know anything about cats? And I think this one might be evil? Or at least hate me? Or be planning on murdering me?”

Robin looks bemused. “I feel like cats could definitely plan homicides. That’s why mom and I are totally dog people. If we had a bigger yard, we would totally have a golden retriever.”

“Oh.” Steve's shoulders slump. “So you can’t tell me about cats?”

“Sorry, precious, I’ve got nothing for you.” She shifts on the bed so her head is in his lap, the comic hovering over her face. “Don’t move,” she warns. “I’m comfortable.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “What am I supposed to do, just sit here?” 

“Read the book I got you, dingus,” Robin says. Robin has been obsessed with reading paperback horror books since learning about Hawkins' own underbelly of horror. This has somehow translated into Robin wanting Steve to read the books she deems ‘good.’

Robin’s current selection is called _Slime_ and it has some weird looking green goo monster on the cover. Robin claims it’s awesome because it’s about flesh eating jellyfish. Steve is doubtful he will enjoy it, but with Robin happily humming in his lap while reading about Diana Prince, Steve picks up the book and turns to the first page.

~*~*~*~

It’s winter break, which means everyone who stayed in Hawkins is throwing parties on alternating nights. Steve suspects that some of the girls on the student council made a schedule or some shit so that no one holds a party on the same night. Tonight, the party is at Tommy’s place.

Which means Steve is wavering between going or not. Like, Tommy is the worst. But also, Tommy has been his best friend since they were six years old. So like, Steve doesn’t know if he should go as some kind of dumb peace offering or something. Robin doesn’t go to parties ever, she and the band kids do, like, movie nights instead. So if Steve is going, he’s going alone. 

Steve thumbs through the shirts hanging in his closet, weighing the pros and cons of going to Tommy’s party. Eventually, he plucks out a navy blue sweater and tugs it over his white undershirt. Someone at the party has to own a cat. It’s worth any scathing remarks from Tommy to figure out whether or not Mr. Kitty shitting in his shoe this afternoon means that he’s about to sink his claws into Steve’s arm when he goes over tomorrow. 

When Steve pulls onto Tommy’s street, it’s lined with cars he recognizes from the high school parking lot. Steve parks behind Gina Davies’ Ford Taurus. He gets out, zipping up his Members Only jacket because it’s mid-December and it’s cold. Unlike in the summer, the sounds of the party are locked inside Tommy’s house, but even from the sidewalk, Steve can hear the bass pumping through the walls. 

The door’s partly open and Steve slips inside making his way past his classmates to the kitchen where Mrs. Hagan used to cut triangle pb&js for Steve and Tommy after school. It’s really weird not being friends with Tommy anymore. Like, they used to talk and hang out every day. Now, Steve hasn’t purposefully spoken to Tommy since last fall. Still, Steve grabs a beer from the overflowing kitchen island and cracks it open. 

As he’s leaning against the patio doors, sipping his cheap beer, Steve gets that feeling. The same one he gets at Dustin’s house when Mr. Kitty is staring him down. Steve knows Tommy doesn’t have a cat. Tommy, in fact, is allergic to cats. Steve turns very slowly to face down this ghost cat he can sense staring fucking daggers into the side of his face. 

It’s not Kelly Morgan who is laughing frantically as Dennis Kegan talks to her. It’s not Mark Clearing who is shotgunning his beer. It’s not Becca Jones who is puking into one of Mrs. Hagan’s potted plants. It’s not even Tommy who is sticking his tongue so far down Carol’s throat Steve wonders if he’s trying to extract a fish bone or something. 

It’s Billy Hargrove. Because of course it is. Billy Hargrove with his preposterously blue eyes that are just absolutely scathing as he glares directly at Steve. Abruptly, Steve can very much imagine Hargrove taking a shit in Steve’s shoe in the locker room. Steve meets Billy’s glare and flips him off. 

“Your hair looks like shit, Harrington,” Billy calls over to him. 

And honestly, what the fuck? Steve very deliberately does not touch his hair. He knows it looks great. He spent ten minutes messing around with it before coming out tonight. “Your everything looks like shit,” Steve says, gesturing lamely at Billy. It's a fucking lie. Billy looks as Calvin Klein perfect as always. 

Then he turns and heads into the living room to escape before Billy decides to, like, throw a fucking picture frame at his head or something. 

Since that night at the Byers’, things are weird between them.

The Monday right after, Billy had thrown Steve up against his BMW, one hand fisted in Steve’s collar and the other jabbing a threatening finger in Steve’s face as he fucking screamed that if Steve had touched Max he would rip off Steve’s balls. 

Steve had tried to shove him off, declaring loudly for anyone listening, including Billy, that he had been babysitting the kids while they played D&D. It was close enough to the truth. That had kind of slowed Billy’s roll, his fist relaxing just a smidge. 

Which was when Max had stormed over to them, shouting at Billy that she had already told him Steve was their babysitter and that if he didn’t believe her, why didn’t he ask Mrs. Byers whose house they had been at in the first place? And why was Billy always the fucking worst? And she hoped Hopper drove by this and arrested Billy for assaulting Steve in the middle of the school parking lot. 

At that point, Billy had let go of Steve’s collar, given him a rough shove, and spit alarmingly close to his sneakers. It was the last they had ever spoken about it. 

Now when they saw each other, they were more like hostile acquaintances instead of flat out enemies. They would rag on each other in gym or at practice. But sometimes Billy would ask if Steve could take Max to the arcade with the kids. And sometimes Steve would offer to drop her off if Billy looked pissed about waiting around. 

It's a super casual truce that involves a lot of shit talking and that's fine with Steve. He'll take that every day over getting a plate cracked over his head because Billy was going macho-rage protecting his sister. 

Edging between party goers, Steve starts scanning faces for anyone who looks like they might own a cat. He doesn’t really know what he’s looking for, like, it would be really helpful if people wore pins that said, “I have a cat” or some shit like that. But, well, that isn’t a real thing. So Steve ends up scrutinizing people’s outfits for even a hint of cat hair. 

He’s kind of deeply absorbed in his weird task when someone checks him from behind. Steve trips over his own feet and ends up tossing his beer can to the floor where it immediately begins pouring out over Mrs. Hagan’s beige carpet. 

“Fuck!” Steve drops to his knees, grabbing the can and thrusting it at the nearest person to him. “Paula, take this?”

Paula from French takes the can with a disgruntled look. “Did you piss yourself?” she asks, examining the wet spot Steve is trying to blot with the knees of his jeans.

The deep laugh from behind him tells Steve exactly who caused this mess. “Jesus, Harrington, no wonder your single.”

Steve refuses to acknowledge either of them. When both his knees are soaked, he stands up and takes his empty beer back from Paula. As he does, he notices a white hair against her black top. “Paula, you have a cat?” he asks with probably way too much enthusiasm. 

She furrows her brows. “Uhm, yeah.” She starts to turn away and Steve sees his chance slipping away. 

“No, wait,” he reaches out and holds onto her elbow, “see, I’m cat sitting for a friend and -”

“Cool.” Paula shakes off his grip and hurries to her cluster of friends across the room. 

Well, Steve thinks, this night has been a total disaster. He sighs with disgust and pushes his way toward the bathroom so he can toss out the beer and try to dry off some of the beer on his jeans with the Hagan’s guest towels. 

By the time he’s snooping through the bathroom cupboards, Steve decides he’ll have to do something radical to solve his cat problem. He’ll go to the library. The Hawkins Public Library. A place he has not voluntarily been since his sixth grade field trip. He wonders if he even has a public library card? Surely Robin will. Okay, so, he and Robin will go to the library. He will get a book on cats, that’s a thing, right? It’s totally a thing, he assures himself. Then - 

“That was the worst pick-up line I have ever heard in my life, Harrington.”

“Uhm, go away?” Steve says, staring up in disbelief at Billy looming over him in the doorway of the bathroom. The door that Steve definitely shut, even if he didn’t lock it. “I’m in the bathroom? So, you shouldn’t be?”

Billy plants his feet. He smirks. “Planning on drowning yourself in the bathtub after that performance?”

Steve gives an exasperated sigh. “I was not trying to ask out Paula, jesus. She thinks _Spinal Tap_ is a real band.”

“What?” Billy asks incredulously.

“Yeah, it’s fucking ridiculous. Now, can you get the fuck out of the bathroom that I’m very clearly using right now?” Steve gestures widely around at the small space they are both occupying. 

“Then why’d you ask about her cat? That’s your version of small talk?” Billy, rather than leaving the bathroom, steps further in so he can shut the door behind him and lean against it. 

“What is happening right now?” Steve asks. “What are you doing? Do people even do this? Do they corner guy’s they’ve given black eyes in other people’s bathrooms and try to interrogate them about a two second conversation they had with a girl who doesn’t even know that _Spinal Tap_ is a fictional band?”

“I had a cat in California,” Billy says, apropos of nothing. 

Suddenly, Steve forgets all about the towel he was looking for. “Really?”

“Yeah, Russian Blue.” 

“That’s awesome,” Steve enthuses, not having the slightest idea what a Russian Blue is. Knowing Billy, it’s probably like the name of some shit band he likes that he decided to name his poor cat after. 

Billy narrows his eyes at him. “Why the fuck are you so into cats tonight?”

“Oh.” Steve blinks. “Okay, fair. I’m taking care of Dustin’s cat. You know Dustin, right? Max’s friend with curly hair and -”

“No front teeth,” Billy finishes for him. “How do you not know how to take care of a cat, Harrington? They’re like the easiest animals on earth.”

“What? No, that’s bullshit. Mr. Kitty has been staring fucking death rays at me and today he - “

“Mr. Kitty?” Billy bursts out laughing. 

Steve briefly considers drowning himself in the sink. “Fuck you, man. Mrs. Henderson named the cat, not me.”

“So what’s your problem with the cat?” Billy asks when he’s finished laughing. 

And like, Steve’s not going to ask Billy if he thinks Mr. Kitty is planning on eviscerating him. Billy would say yes no matter what, just to fuck with Steve. So instead, Steve stands up and gestures to his knees. “I need to get home. I’m covered in beer and this party sucks anyway.” 

Billy drops his eyes before slowly looking back up at Steve. “Tommy didn’t think you’d show.”

Steve lifts a shoulder. “I don’t really care what Tommy thinks.”

“Whose opinion do you care about?” Billy asks. 

Which is a weird question, but what’s weirder is that Mr. Kitty is the first thing that pops to mind. And no, Steve is not going to let himself be bullied by a fucking cat. “I gotta go,” Steve says, shoving his hand behind Billy’s back and opening the bathroom door. 

Billy doesn’t follow him out, which is Steve’s only relief, because this night has fucking sucked. Steve should have just stayed home. But whatever, tomorrow he’ll go to the library with Robin and he will conquer Mr. Kitty’s unwarranted hatred.

~*~*~*~

Tomorrow he doesn’t go to the library with Robin because Robin and her mom are driving two towns over to go to some cafe they swear has the best cheese quesadillas. They invite Steve along, but Steve has cat sitting responsibilities this afternoon and he has to know what kind of hostility he is walking into. So instead, he drives to the public library alone and slinks into the squat, brown building like the non-library book reading delinquent he is.

The main lobby of the library has this big desk with Tammy Thompson sitting behind it. Tammy, the walking talking muppet. Maybe it’s a good thing Robin didn’t come or else Steve would have had to pretend he gives a shit what Tammy thinks while Robin helplessly flirts with her. 

He walks over to Tammy with a winning smile. “Hey, Tammy.”

Tammy perks up instantly. She beams at him, her lips a bright bubblegum pink. “Like, o-m-g, Steve! What are you doing here?” She twirls her hair around her finger. 

He leans up against the counter, fingers tapping at the top of the faux wood finish. “I’m looking for a book about cats. Think you could help me out?”

“You have a cat?” Tammy asks excitedly, her hazel eyes wide with interest. 

“Uh, no, actually,” Steve says. “I -”

“Are you thinking of getting one?” she interrupts. 

Steve starts to frown. “No, I’m - “

“Then why do you need a book on them?”

And what the actual fuck? Can’t a guy just borrow a book on cats because he fucking wants to? What is with the goddamn invasion of personal privacy? Steve grinds his molars together, keeping his smile firmly in place. “Just need a book on cats, Tammy. Can you help me or not?”

“Oh, totally!” She hops down from her desk chair and rounds the desk to his side. “They’re in the adult non-fiction section.” 

She leads him to a door on the left of the lobby which is propped open to a larger room filled with shelved books and another circulation desk. Steve follows her past a number of rows until she stops. “Animals are here.” She waves her hand at the seemingly endless shelf of books. 

“Cool,” Steve says looking from Tammy to the books. “Where?”

She giggles. “You’ll have to check.” Then she flounces away. 

Steve watches her go, thinking it’s some kind of weird library joke he isn’t getting. Surely she isn’t just going to leave him here with fucking hundreds of books to look through hoping he finds one on cats? Like, that isn’t what’s happening right now, right?

But it is, because Tammy turns around at the doors to the lobby and waggles her fingers at Steve in farewell. Steve turns and stares at the twelve foot long, six foot high shelves. “Fucking Tammy,” Steve curses lowly. 

Steve tilts his head to the side and squints at the bindings of the books nearest him. They’re about snakes. He checks the shelf above them. They’re about koalas. 

“Right.” He straightens up. There was another circulation desk in here. Obviously that librarian has to be way more competent than Tammy. So Steve heads back there to ask once more about damn cats. 

Except on the way, Steve trips over seemingly nothing and has to catch himself on the back of a chair to keep from face planting into one of the study tables that occupy the middle space of the library. “The fuck?” Steve says to himself. 

“You lost?” a horribly familiar voice asks. 

Steve grimaces as he turns around and finds himself face to face with Billy Hargrove’s obnoxiously attractive curls. “Are you always this much of a pain in the ass or is it something special just for me?” 

“You’re just easy,” Billy says with a shrug and a smirk.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asks, looking from Billy to the pile of books he has spread in front of him on the study table. 

Billy looks at him like he’s stupid. “My homework. Do you need glasses, Harrington?”

“You come to the library to do your homework?” Steve asks incredulously. It just seems like such an anti-Billy thing to do. Billy choosing to do his homework in a scholarly building instead of, like, at a dirty concert venue or something. 

“Did you get dumber since school let out for break or . . .?” Billy leaves the question hanging. 

“Fuck off, man,” Steve huffs. He doesn’t need this. He just needs to find his dumb book about cats. So Steve starts back towards his original destination. 

A hand snags at his back belt loop and jerks Steve to a stop. “Why are you here, amigo?”

“I just want a book about cats,” Steve hisses through gritted teeth. Life is not supposed to be this hard, Steve is sure of it. 

“Damn, you’re still obsessing over the cats thing?” Billy tilts his head to the side and curls his tongue against his teeth in a teasing smile. 

Steve wants to kick the chair out from under him. “Yeah, do you have a problem with that?”

“No,” Billy says, drawing out the word. “But I’m pretty sure you left the animal section behind you.” He juts his thumb back to where Tammy had left Steve. 

“I know,” Steve says. “But I couldn’t find what I was looking for, so I’m going to ask at the circulation desk, if you could just leave me the fuck alone.”

Instead, Billy gets up. “You don’t need the circulation desk, dickweed. Just check the card catalogue.”

Hearing the term ‘card catalogue’ brings back dusty memories of the dewey decimal system and that kickass scene from the Ghost Busters. Somehow, Steve finds himself trailing after Billy as he heads to a cabinet full of tiny square drawers. Billy quickly selects a drawer and rifles through the contents with an ease that suggests he does this frequently. 

“Do you - do you come here often?” Steve asks, not sure how to process this new information about Billy. 

“I drop the shitbird off at the arcade, come here, and do my bullshit homework,” Billy shares, like he and Steve are people who share any type of personal information. 

“I do my homework at Robin’s,” Steve blurts, feeling, like, invisible peer pressure to make their sharing equal. 

Billy gives him a weird look over his shoulder. “Cool.” The way he says it says he thinks it’s very much not cool. Which fuck Billy. It’s his fault Steve said anything in the first place. “You never said what you deal with this cat thing is. Did you feed it fucking chocolate or something?”

“No,” Steve says defensively. It’s not his fault he dropped that fucking cheeto yesterday. And like, Mr. Kitty hadn’t puked or anything, so it was probably fine. “I just - does it matter?”

Billy shrugs. “I mean, cats are like the easiest pets. I’m trying to imagine how even you, all hair and no brains, is fucking that up.”

“Yeah, whatever, all muscle and no intellect,” Steve shoots back. 

Billy smirks. “Pretty sure the saying is all brawn and no brains.” He lifts a card from the rolledex and holds it out to Steve. 

“Screw off, Hargrove.” Steve snatches the card from him and power walks back to the animal section.

~*~*~*~

Steve ends up taking five books from the cat section. They’re all rather slim and boring looking, but it’s still better than nothing. As he makes his way back to the center aisle of the library, Steve sees Billy bent dutifully over his homework. Steve looks from his pile of books to the empty seat next to Billy. He’s not going to sit there, obviously.

The chair next to Billy kicks out and Steve drops his gaze to where Billy’s beat up sneaker is kicking the legs. “Take a load off, Harrington.”

It’s not like Steve can check the books out anyway, without a library card, so he sits down in the offered chair. Setting his pile of books in front of him, Steve picks up the one on top. _The Complete Book of Pet Care_ has a bland cover with a smiling vet type holding a cat on his lap. Steve flips open the book and starts scanning through the pages. 

It takes Steve ten minutes to close the book with an annoyed huff. “I did not need to know any of that information about cats going into. None of it.” He’s mostly talking to himself, the way he does at his house when no one’s home, which is more often than not. 

Billy, however, doesn’t seem to get that. Instead, he glances at the book cover and then at Steve. “What did you think it would be about?”

“I don’t know. Like pet stuff? Like don’t touch their ears or they like tuna fish?” Steve shrugs. 

Billy splays out the other books Steve has brought with him. “Really, Harrington, you thought _Homeopathic Care for Cats_ was going to teach you that?”

“Homeopathic?” Steve points to the title. “Home is right there. Home like what toys to give your cat at home? How often to change your cat’s water at home?”

Billy starts laughing, catches Steve’s earnest expression, and laughs harder. “No, man. That’s not what homeopathic means at all. Homeopathy is, like, natural remedies to illness. My mom was super into it. Anytime I had a cold she would make me drink hot lemon water to break it up.”

Again, with this mind boggling sharing of personal information. Also, it’s sort of impressive that Billy knows what the word homeopathy means. Steve isn’t aces at school and can’t help but kind of worship at the feet of people who just get school in a way he never has. He buries that feeling deep because this is fucking Billy after all. 

“Right,” Steve sighs. He shoves that book across the table. “What about these ones?” 

Billy scrutinizes them before turning his gaze to Steve. “It depends on what you’re looking for, pretty boy. Is something wrong with the cat?”

“Yes,” Steve says immediately. 

“So take it to the vet.” 

“No, not like that.” Steve runs his hands through his hair. “Not like seriously wrong.”

“Then what’s wrong with it?” Billy props his head on his hand, watching Steve with his feline like eyes. 

“It doesn’t like me,” Steve whispers furiously. 

Billy blinks. Then he smirks. “Smart cat.”

“Asshole,” Steve groans. He buries his face in his arms and gives up on finding what he needs from the library. 

“How do you know he doesn’t like you, Harrington? Cats aren’t the friendliest.” 

“He shit in my shoe.” The words are muffled by Steve's arms. 

Beside him, Billy cracks up again. “That’s fucking classic.” He shoves at Steve’s shoulder. “I want to meet this cat.”

“What?” Steve looks up, perplexed. “Why?”

“Because Mr. Kitty sounds like the fucking best.”

~*~*~*~

“You can’t smoke in here,” Steve says, snatching Billy’s cigarette from between Billy’s lips and tossing it to the slushy sidewalk leading to the Henderson’s front door.

“Dickhead,” Billy bitches. “I would have finished it before going inside.”

Steve flaps his hand to clear the air around both of them. “Mrs. Henderson hates the smell of cigarettes.”

“Just shut up and get the door open, I’m freezing my balls off here.” Billy does a little wiggle dance on the porch, apparently trying to keep his balls warm.

Steve laughs because it’s ridiculous. “It’s not even in the thirties yet, Hargrove. How are you going to survive during January and February?”

“I won’t make it to next week if you don’t open the fucking door.” Billy snatches the keys from Steve’s hand and jams them into the lock. 

Steve isn’t one hundred percent sure why he agreed to let Billy meet Mr. Kitty. That’s a slight lie. It’s just, Mr. Kitty is kind of intimidating and if Steve is going to get assassinated by a cat, he’d at least like someone there to witness his murder. That way, when Dustin comes home to his bloodied corpse, Billy will be able to tell him to send Mr. Kitty to cat jail, or whatever. 

Once inside, Steve flicks on the lights and stares around the living room. Mr. Kitty isn’t in sight. “I’m going to go get his food,” Steve says. Billy waves him off which Steve finds suspicious. “Don’t, like, break anything or steal something or, you know, generally be you?”

Billy’s bark of laughter is not reassuring. 

Steve quickly pulls a can of Fancy Feast from the pantry and opens it, plopping the totally dubious gelatinous contents into Mr. Kitty’s silver bowl. This is his least favorite part of cat sitting, waiting around for Mr. Kitty to eat his gross food so Steve can clean out the bowl before the jiggly grossness can congeal to the sides of the bowl. 

“Here, kitty, kitty,” Steve calls softly. Mr. Kitty does not appear. “Billy?” Steve calls out instead. Billy does not answer. “Typical,” Steve scoffs. 

He heads back into the living room and sits down on the couch. Billy is perched on his heels examining the contents of the Henderson’s living room bookshelf. “These people have a nauseating number of Harlequin romances.”

“Billy!” Steve hisses, his cheeks blushing red on Mrs. Henderson’s behalf. “Why are you snooping through their books anyway?”

“Perusing,” Billy corrects.

“Uh, is there a difference? You are sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.” Which, not to be completely weird or anything, but Steve kind of has a thing about Billy’s nose. About Billy’s everything actually. 

Like the way Billy looks like a fucking lion? With his mane of golden curls, his large round eyes perfectly accentuated by the full, sharp angle of his eyebrows, his flat button nose, and the pointed peaks of his full lips. When Steve looks at Billy he sees someone with model-levels of hotness and the worst fucking attitude. It’s a combination Steve can’t decide if he finds insufferably attractive or just insufferable. 

“Snooping would imply I was looking covertly. Perusing means I’m doing it right out in front of you. And as you can see,” Billy pulls a book from the shelf and chucks it at Steve’s face, “I’m not hiding my perusal.” 

“Ow! Fuck!” Steve yelps as he bats the book out of the air before it can strike him upside the head. It falls into his lap with the cover facing up. _What Your Cat Really Means_ the title says. Beneath it is a cartoon picture of a cat with a speech bubble that has ‘meow?’ inside it. “Oh.”

“Uh-huh. You’re welcome, dickface.” Billy stands up, arching his back to crack it. “So where the fuck is the cat? Or was this all just an elaborate ruse to get me in an empty house?” Billy waggles his eyebrows at Steve. 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yes, that’s exactly it. I couldn’t wait to get you on your own. Oh burning, burning love. Kiss me, Billy!” Steve throws a dramatic hand across his brow and faints against the couch. 

Billy is dead quiet for a second before bursting out in ringing laughter. When Steve sneaks a peek at him from his recline on the couch, he sees Billy’s full mouth curled up in a gorgeous smile, the corners of his eyes creased upwards. Insufferably attractive, Steve thinks, before sitting back up and opening the book. 

“Thanks for this, dipshit - ow! Ow! What the hell!” Steve jerks his shoes up onto the couch with him. He feels momentarily guilty, but the sharp sting from his ankle quickly outweighs his concern. He usually takes his shoes off at the door, but after Mr. Kitty’s stealth attack yesterday, he thought it might be better to keep them on this time around. 

Billy drops to his knee, peering beneath the coffee table. When he looks up at Steve’s he’s grinning. “Found the cat.”

“What?” Steve asks in outrage. He leans forward, hanging his head over the couch only to see a tiny paw swipe out from the dark recess of the couch, claws extended. “Vicious!” Steve proclaims. “Oh man, this cat has it fucking out for me! What did I do?” he asks Mr. Kitty. “Like, dude! I clean your nasty ass litter box! I feed you! Cut me some slack, man!” 

Apparently unconcerned about Steve’s maimed ankles, Billy stretches his hand out to Mr. Kitty, his arm bent at an awkward angle to reach under the coffee table. Mr. Kitty’s paw retreats under the couch before slowly, his black nose peeks out. Inch by slow inch, Mr. Kitty emerges to sniff tentatively at Billy. 

And then, to prove the world hates Steve, Mr. Kitty bumps his head against Billy’s outstretched hand, meowing plaintively. 

“What the fuck!” Steve shouts.

Mr. Kitty hisses, back arching, and darts away into the kitchen. 

“Idiot,” Billy complains, staring after the cat. “You have no cat instincts at all.”

“What does that even mean?” Steve asks, eyes bugging in disbelief. “I’m keeping it alive, aren’t I?”

Billy just smirks. “Read your book, pretty boy.” He pushes off the coffee table to his feet. “I’m out of here, give Mr. Kitty my regards. Unless he succeeds in severing your achilles tendon before you leave.” 

Steve grimaces, covering his wound with his left hand. Tacky, dried blood meets his touch. He twists his foot to the side to examine the damage. Three claw marks drag across the side of his ankle, not deep, but sharp enough to leave a smudge of blood that he’ll have to disinfect for fear of rabies or some other animal only disease. “Motherfucker,” Steve curses. 

Billy laughs at Steve’s distress because he’s an asshole like that. He’s got a Marbolo red between his fingers and his other hand on the doorknob. “You going to Shaun’s party tonight?”

“What?” Steve rolls his sock down to keep it out of reach of his cut. 

“Shaun’s party?”

“Oh.” Steve makes a face. “No, I’m hanging out with Robin. She’s been driving me up the wall begging to watch Returning of the Living Dead at my place. My parents got this stupidly huge TV installed in our basement so Robin wants to make a full on movie night out of it.” 

Billy crinkles his brow. “Right.” Then he shakes his head. “Fucking rich people.”

Steve laughs. “Uh, yeah, tell me about it. It’s got, like, its own sound system too. It’s the most rich people bullshit I’ve seen.” 

Tilting his head, Billy considers Steve. “Are you not those exact rich people?”

“Me?” Steve gestures to himself. “Dude, seriously? I might get to enjoy the house I live in, but my parents have made it very clear whose money it is. Like, yeah, I’m a spoiled asshole, but when I move out, any of my dad’s money that he might give me has endless strings attached to it.” 

It’s a weird conversation to be having with Billy. Actually, this whole day has been a weird one to share with Billy. Not necessarily bad, but definitely weird. So Steve’s kind of relieved when Billy just shrugs. “Later,” he says, knocking on the door as he steps out. 

“Later,” Steve echoes. 

From the kitchen, Mr. Kitty starts spitting and hissing.

~*~*~*~

On the glass coffee table in front of the basement Panasonic CinemaVision television, Steve and Robin have a bucket of popcorn, an assortment of candy boxes, and a cooler with soda. Robin’s a nerd who would rather drink Pepsi Free than a Coors. Steve doesn’t really care either way.

“Oh my god,” Robin enthuses, “this is going to be so rad.” She clutches the VHS of _Return of the Living Dead_ to her chest. “This is one of the greatest cinematic achievements in our lifetime, Steve, and now we get to watch it on this behemoth of a tv!” 

“Amazing,” Steve patronizes even though he’s grinning. 

“Asshole,” Robin complains. She tosses a pillow at him from the L-shaped leather couch. 

The entire basement is dad’s playground of rich man indulgence. Including the bar on the far side that his dad watches like a hawk. Even a centimeter of missing Scotch will be noticed immediately and Steve will lose the keys to the BMW. He wasn’t even allowed down here until he turned sixteen. 

Life in Steve’s house is weird. There are still areas Steve is banned from, like his father’s study, his mother’s reading room, and the second guest room. That particular room is off limits because when Steve was eight he had the flu and accidentally walked in there instead of the hallway bathroom and threw up all over the carpet. It’s never been forgotten. His mom had the entire carpet replaced. She still brings it up anytime Steve gets sick. “Remember, sweetie, if you’re feeling unwell, make sure you use the right room.” 

Robin takes out the tape like it’s the holy grail and places it with tender care in the VHS player. Steve holds up the remote with its fancy sixteen buttons and aims it at the screen. “Are we ready?” he asks Robin. 

“Wait!” She dashes to the stairs and turns off the lights. “Okay, now!”

Steve clicks play. The tape blinks to life, filling the basement with its bright glow. Robin hurries back to the couch, jumping over the back and sliding into place next to Steve.

“So - rad,” she says in hushed awe. 

Steve laughs at her, but hands her a pack of Skittles. “Whatever you say, Robster.” Robin punches him in the shoulder hard. Yeah, she hasn’t been the biggest fan of Steve’s nicknames. 

The Coming Soon to VHS section is just starting when the basement intercom chimes with the sound of the doorbell. Steve turns to Robin. “You didn’t invite any of the band geeks, right?”

“No!” Robin defends. “Best friend time only.” She crosses her pinkies together in her customary sign of bffs forever. “Did you order pizza?”

“We ate Chinese together?” Steve points out. “Why would I order pizza?”

“I don’t know, Stevie, maybe because you’re a growing boy?”

The intercom chimes with the doorbell again. 

Steve sighs. “Probably, like, encyclopedia salesmen or some shit.” He hands the remote to Robin. “Pause it for me if the movie starts?”

She nods. Steve heads to the stairs, turns on the lights, and takes the stairs two at a time. By the time he crosses to his front door, someone is hammering down on the doorbell again. 

Annoyed, Steve pulls the door open, already saying, “Whatever it is, I already have it and don’t need to buy a new one - Billy?”

Billy grins, cigarette in the corner of his mouth. “How’s it hanging, amigo?”

“What are you -?” He squints. He looks from Billy in his brown bomber jacket to Heather Holloway with her hair teased big. “What?”

“You said we were invited.” Heather turns with a pout to look accusingly at Billy. 

“I said we were watching a movie at Harrington’s. I didn’t specify the arrangements.” Billy holds his smoke between his fingers and eyes Steve. “You gonna invite us in, or what?” He steps to the left and reveals a six pack of Coors sitting discreetly beside his Converse. 

Heather lifts the plastic bag Steve only now realizes she’s been holding. “I made brownies. With sprinkles.”

“Uhm, come on in?” Steve says sounding about as certain as he isn’t that this is a good idea. 

Billy lifts the beer and shoulders past Steve into the foyer. He doesn’t stop to look around. He just shouts, “Buckley!” at the top of his lungs. 

“Billy?” a faint yell drifts up to them from the basement. 

Billy follows the sound leaving Steve and Heather standing awkwardly together in the foyer. “So, uh, you didn’t feel like going to Shaun’s party?”

Heather wrinkles her cute, upturned nose. “No. Shaun grabbed my boob in the pool last year during gym class. He’s on my shit list for the rest of his miserable life. Besides,” she shrugs, “Billy said you guys are watching _Return of the Living Dead_ and I love zombie movies.” Her grin is alarmingly sharp. 

“Right, okay,” Steve says, bobbing his head, trying to get this night back on track. “Well, this way to the zombies.” He gestures in front of him and pulls the front door shut. 

In the basement, Billy is spread wide in the middle of the couch with his shoes up on the coffee table and the bowl of popcorn held possessively in his lap. Robin, chaos lover that she is, looks thrilled by this turn of events. Especially when Heather, with her pink neon halter top over a black tank top, sits down next to her. 

Steve drags his feet a little as he makes his way to the far side of the couch and sits down on the L portion, closest to Billy. As soon as he’s sitting, Billy shoves a beer at his chest. “Are we watching this or what? Let’s go already.”

Robin laughs, picking up the remote and pressing play. 

As soon as the punk girl gets bizarrely naked everything goes to hell. Billy becomes concerningly obscene, Robin is in hysterics over it, Heather starts throwing popcorn at Billy and telling him to shut the fuck up, and Steve just watches it all, a little dazed. 

“Harrington, back me up,” Billy says, smirking at Steve. 

“No?” Steve points to the screen. “She made horrible choices. She’s definitely going to die. Last thing you want to be doing during the apocalypse is running around buck naked.”

“Agree to disagree, amigo.” Billy licks his lips. 

Steve gives him a flat stare. “You’re seriously trying to tell me that if we had any type of apocalypse going on, you would be down to run around fucking naked while trying to stay alive?”

Billy stretches his arms across the back of the couch, really settling himself in. “I look best with it all off.” 

“Is that why you never button your shirts?” Robin teases. 

“Like what you see, Buckley?” Billy asks. 

“Really, really not,” Robin says before cracking up. 

Billy has a moment of looking honestly offended before Steve intercedes. “What if, like, a fucking snake bit you in the dick?” This is a serious concern, in Steve’s opinion. Indiana is filled with snakes. 

“Aw, you worried about my dick, pretty boy?” Billy bats his eyelashes. 

Steve flips him off. “Or, like, feral cats!” He imagines Mr. Kitty roaming the streets of a smoked out Hawkins, secretly hunting Steve down. “They’d scratch your bare legs to hell, then you would get some grody ass infection, and then you would fucking die. All because you couldn’t keep your clothes on.”

Heather golf claps his impromptu rant while Robin wolf whistles. “Preach, Steve, preach!” 

Billy takes this all in before he leans over and flicks Steve directly in the middle of his forehead. “Loser.” 

“The fuck?” Steve gasps, shocked. He flicks Billy as hard as he can, Billy’s curls flutter at the impact. 

Suddenly, Billy’s eyes narrow and he looks exactly like Mr. Kitty did this afternoon before he pounced on Steve’s lap and dug his claws in deep to Steve’s thigh. Steve gets nervous, he backs up on the couch until he’s trapped against the arm of the couch. 

“No,” he tells Billy, holding his hands up. “This does not need to devolve into hair pulling. We have a movie on,” he points to the TV where the Return of the Living Dead continues to play. “We can work this through - “

Steve shrieks as Billy dives on top of him and wrestles him off the couch. They hit the floor, Steve taking most of the impact and groaning as he tries to roll out from underneath Billy’s bulk. 

Above them, the girls start chanting, “Fight, fight, fight!” and throwing popcorn at them. It’s fucking ridiculous and Steve’s brain is kind of having trouble processing that Billy is just play fighting him instead of trying to bash his brains in? But, like, in a good way?

Billy eventually pins Steve to the floor on his stomach, Steve’s face mashed into the plush brown carpet. “Can you get off?” he complains. “Your fat ass is crushing me.”

“My ass is a fucking gift, Harrington,” Billy says loftily. 

Heather cat calls this before she breaks up in giggles. 

Billy settles himself so he’s laying completely on top of Steve, their backs pressing against each other. It’s really weird and Steve is using all of his brain power not to get aroused by this. Because, yes, he might have had a come to Jesus moment with Robin about liking boys and girls, but he isn’t ready to put that realization into practice. 

“Get off, you heifer!” Steve grunts. 

“Really trying to crush my ego here, pretty boy.” Billy reaches down and pinches Steve’s hip, hard. 

Steve yelps and then gasps as the action squeezes the scant air from his lung. “Killing me,” he pants. 

Billy sighs dramatically before standing up. “Such a fucking drama queen.”

Steve rolls over with effort, sucking down greedy lungfuls of air. “My life was flashing before my eyes. Squashed to death by Hargrove’s fat ass and thick muscles.”

Billy licks slowly over his top lip. “That’s not the only part of me that’s fat and thick.”

The girls squeal in disgust and Steve chokes on his tongue before laughing in startled surprise. “You use that line on all the girls?”

“Only the easy ones.” He shoots finger guns in Steve’s direction. 

“I’m not easy!” Steve shouts, offended. “I’m a total gentleman. No sex on the first date.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “Boring.”

“Robin!” Steve says, sitting up and curling around his knees. “Help me out here.”

She holds up her hands. “I mean, I wouldn’t put out on the first date, but I’m a band nerd, so what do I know?”

Heather leans over, playing with the ends of Robin’s hair in a manner that Steve would qualify as flirty. “You’re not a nerd. You’re just,” she presses her lips together, thinking, “unique.”

Robin practically glows under the compliment. Steve shoots a look at Billy to see his reaction to this development. There’s a curl of a self-satisfied smirk at the corner of Billy’s lips. This gives Steve pause. Maybe Billy is secretly cool? 

“Come on, Ms. Prude, let’s finish this fucking movie.” Billy holds out his hand and Steve takes it. Billy hefts him to his feet with an almost insulting lack of effort. 

Steve’s never been exactly buff, but he’s got muscles. He plays basketball every day and does sit-ups and push-ups every morning. But he’s got nothing on Billy. Billy, who is toned like he’s planning on boxing his way out of a bar fight. It’s hot. Not that Steve is thinking about Billy like that. Because he’s not. Definitely not.

~*~*~*~

The next afternoon, Steve sits cross legged on his bed, staring down at the book he’s borrowed from the Henderson’s house. Apparently, cat tails are like the mecca for their emotions. And their ears. Steve is studying these drawings of cat tails and ears with more dedication than he ever did for his SATs. He will make Dustin’s cat like him if it’s the last thing he ever does before Mr. Kitty mauls him to death.

So, armed with this new information, Steve prepares himself to speak cat and get on Mr. Kitty’s good side. When he gets to the Henderson’s, Steve makes a lot of noise unlocking the door so Mr. Kitty knows he’s coming in. Then he takes his shoes off, puts them neatly by the door, and calls out, “Hey, Mr. Kitty. What’s up, man?”

The responding hiss from somewhere in the dark depths of the house is not exactly the encouraging sign Steve was hoping for. Still, he pushes forward. The book said giving food was a good thing to gain a cat’s trust. Steve’s been doing that for three days. Maybe the fourth day is the charm. 

He goes into the kitchen and sets about preparing the disgusting Fancy Feast. As he’s slopping it into Mr. Kitty’s silver dish a horrible rending sound cuts across the silence. Steve freezes. “Oh, shit.”

He drops the dish to the floor and runs out to the living room, but it’s already too late. His once pristine Nike sneaker is being torn to fucking shreds by the clearly demonic Mr. Kitty. “Dude, no!” Steve whines. 

He drops into Mrs. Henderson’s armchair and watches in misery as Mr. Kitty continues to completely wreck his left sneaker. And Mr. Kitty is, like, really into it, changing up deadly clawings with a few bite attacks for good measure. “Your nasty ass food is getting cold,” he tells Mr. Kitty tonelessly. 

Mr. Kitty’s freaky green eyes glare over his shoulder at Steve before he hisses. 

“No, no. Please, continue to be fucking menace. Don’t let me interrupt you or anything, bud.” Steve waves toward the general destruction the feline fury is causing.

It takes a total of ten minutes for Steve’s sneaker to be nothing but carnage. When Mr. Kitty saunters away, tail high and curved, which according to the book is a sign of happiness, Steve decides he’s done cat sitting for the day. He goes to the door, puts on his remaining sneaker, and picks up the shredded mess by the rubber sole. 

“You’re a little bitch, Mr. Kitty,” Steve says as he locks the door behind him.

~*~*~*~

After driving home for a change of sneakers, Steve drive’s to Billy’s house without really asking himself why. He carries the shoe remains with him to the door and presses the doorbell. He hears some shouting from the other side of the door before it’s wrenched open by a pissed off looking Max. Seeing Steve, her expression relaxes.

“What are you doing here?” 

Steve lifts a brow. “Wow, nice to see you too, Max.”

She rolls her eyes in a perfect imitation of her step-sibling. “Oh my god, hi, Steve! How the fuck are you, old pal?” she shouts with scathing sarcasm. 

“Steve?” Billy’s voice questions from deeper in the house. 

Steve gives Max a critical look before stepping around her and into the tiny living room of the Hargrove household. And then he just freezes because this house is, like, sad? Is that a thing? Can houses be sad? Because the Hargrove's house is screamingly sad. 

There’s this little mason jar filled with seashells on the green mantle above the fireplace like Max’s mom wanted to bring some of California’s beach with them but this is all she ended up with. The paint on the walls is dingy, like it hasn’t been repainted since the house was built back in the fifties. There’s flora curtains on the windows trying to add some cheer to the room and just failing miserably. 

Steve is suddenly thinking he was way out of line coming here. He starts back tracking, his mouth already open to make up some excuse about going to the wrong house like it’s as easy as dialing a wrong phone number. And then Billy emerges from the tiny hallway, shirtless and sweaty. Steve decides he’s okay with staying a little bit longer, if only to see where the line of sweat curving its way down Billy’s neck ends up.

By the time Steve snaps his eyes back up to Billy’s blue ones, Billy is smirking. Dangerously. Like he knows exactly what Steve is thinking. Steve fights back a blush. He has stared just as blatantly at girls in too tight shirts without getting flustered. Billy Hargrove is not going to fluster Steve. 

“See something you like, Harrington?” Billy licks at the corner of his mouth. 

“Gross, Billy!” Max shouts. She storms past them, making sure to slam her bedroom door shut. 

Billy looks from Max’s closed door to Steve and apparently sees the desiccated corpse of Steve’s shoe for the first time. “The fuck is that?” His full eyebrows scrunch up in confusion. 

Steve sighs, shoulders slumping. “It was my sneaker. And then Mr. Kitty decided to share his thoughts with me.”

Billy’s eyes go wide and then he’s laughing so hard he has to clutch at his side. Steve takes this moment to admire the way Billy’s pec look like they could do push-ups all on their own. And the way Billy’s dumb mullet is growing out into just long curls with bangs. Steve really wants to get his hands in those curls. And, nope! He shuts that line of thought down immediately. 

“Dude, what the fuck did you do to that cat?” Billy asks when he’s finally stopped laughing. 

Steve follows him as Billy leads the way to the kitchen and pulls open the fridge. He takes out two beers and tosses one to Steve who has to drop his dead shoe to catch it. “I didn’t do anything,” Steve protests. “I even bought that fucking cat! Dustin didn’t have the money, obviously, so I shelled it out and this is the bullshit I get in return?” He pouts, depressed that he couldn’t even by the affections of a cat. 

Billy shoulder checks him as he heads back to Billy’s bedroom. It’s nothing like Steve’s bedroom. Steve’s room is kind of boring, blue walls with posters of bands he likes and a couple movie posters. Billy’s bedroom is super loud, just like Billy. 

But what fascinates Steve the most is the littering of jewelry on top of Billy’s dresser. Long chain necklaces with pendants, a random assortment of leather bracelets, a handful of earrings, and a clutter of rings. Steve sets his beer on the corner of the dresser and picks up one of the rings. He looks to his left and in the mirror finds Billy’s eyes locked on him. 

Steve slips the ring, a chunky metal with a heavy metal rose, on his middle finger. He holds up his hand to see how it looks. Suddenly, Billy is pressed all up along the back of him. “What are you doing, pretty boy?”

Steve shrugs. He pulls the ring off and picks up a different one. This one has a large turquoise stone in it. He slides it down over his right ring finger. He’s not into this one so much. He takes it off and sets it down with the rest. 

Billy’s still right behind him, the heat of his bare chest practically burning through Steve’s t-shirt. Billy reaches around him and picks up a ring that has a flat top with a lion engraved on it. Curling an arm around Steve’s stomach, Billy lifts up Steve’s hand and fits the ring over Steve’s middle finger. 

It’s a perfect fit. 

Steve turns around in the cage of Billy’s arm. “How do I get Mr. Kitty to like me?” he asks. 

“You got to stop chasing after him. Let him come to you.” Billy stares into Steve’s eyes, his face dipping closer so they are breathing the same air. 

“Uh-huh,” Steve murmurs. He lifts his arms so they settle around Billy’s shoulders, Billy’s ring heavy on his finger. “But what happens when I do that and the little shit keeps coming at me?”

Billy grins. “Well, some cats are little shits. But if you give him a chance, he’ll probably chill out. Want to curl up on your lap.” His fingers hook into Steve’s belt loops and tug him closer until they are pressed chest to chest. 

“He killed my shoe,” Steve says. 

Billy nudges Steve’s nose with his own. “He’s probably really sorry about that.” 

“Is he?” Steve asks, he curls his fingers in the ends of Billy’s gorgeous hair. 

“Mhm,” Billy nods, his lips brushing Steve’s. 

“Are we done talking about the cat?” Steve smiles.

“Yep.” Billy grins and goes in for the kill. 

They kiss like they’ve been doing it this whole time. Like every fight, every push and shove, was just practice for this. The kiss sparks and dazzles, it drags Steve under like everything about Billy has. Steve licks into Billy’s mouth, he tastes like cinnamon gum and cigarettes. He’s the best thing Steve has ever tasted. 

Billy grabs Steve’s hips and hoists him onto the dresser like Steve weighs nothing. Steve’s legs lock around Billy’s thighs, drawing him in close. Billy nips at Steve’s lower lip and Steve gasps at the sharp slice of his teeth. He pulls back to see Billy’s bright, excited eyes. 

“Such a menace,” Steve says, hushed, leaning back in to kiss the pleased smirk off Billy’s lips. 

By the time they break apart, Billy’s got his hands so far up Steve’s shirt Steve’s stomach is showing and their bare skin is touching. Billy rubs his thumbs against Steve’s ribs like he can’t get enough of the feel of him. 

“Are you still worried about the Henderson's cat?”

“Nah, I figure I’ll just take you with me for the rest of the week. You can keep him occupied from killing me while I’m there.” Steve loops his arms lazily around Billy’s neck. The sunlight from Billy’s bedroom window glints off the ring on Steve’s finger. “I get to keep this, right?”

Billy cocks his head to the side. “The ring or me?”

“Both, duh.”

Billy grins. “Sure, pretty boy. I’m yours.” 

Steve can practically feel Billy purr. Steve might never have had a pet, but Steve’s had a girlfriend. It can’t really be that different from having a boyfriend. Well, maybe a little different because it’s Billy and Billy is the absolute worst. But, like, in the best way.

**Author's Note:**

> You wanted kissing in the rain. 
> 
> [tumblr](http://wistful-wisterias.tumblr.com)


End file.
